


I Will if You Will

by Morbidmuch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Light Angst, Post-Hogwarts, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-10-13 22:17:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20590007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbidmuch/pseuds/Morbidmuch
Summary: He stumbled upon her buried in a book.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure where this came from, it's been months and months since I've written anything. I'm also not at all used to, or comfortable writing SSHG fiction, but there you have it.

He stumbled upon her buried in a book. 

This on its own wasn't noteworthy; it was well known among the staff that the swot of Gryffindor could be found with her nose buried in a book nearly every waking hour.

The circumstance that made the meeting noteworthy was that their meeting took place in a book store in Muggle London, and he hadn't seen her for almost five years. For a moment he considered turning around and stalking out, forgetting that he'd ever seen her. Unfortunately, his plans were thwarted when she looked up from the book in her hands.

Her brown eyes widened in surprise. “Professor Snape! What are you doing here?”

His left eyebrow twitched. “I've not been your, nor anyone's, Professor in many years, Miss Granger.”

Hermione smiled nervously. “Sorry, sir. Old habit, and all that.”

She tucked a piece of curly hair behind her ear, and he noticed it was considerably shorter than last he saw her, now barely grazing her shoulders. Perhaps this change from the mane of frizz was the reason he'd not recognised her at first glance. It was the silhouette which he'd been used to during her school years, which made her recognisable even from afar. That and the two dunderheads she used to associate herself with. Still probably did, one could assume.

“Indeed.”

“So how have you been, sir? I haven't seen you since...” She trailed off.

“The trial,” Snape filled in. “Is this uncertainty with words something new you're testing? I seem to recall the problem used to be to keep you quiet.”

She winced. “Sorry, sir.”

“Stop calling me sir.”

“Sorry.”

“And stop apologising! Sweet Merlin, your conversational skills have deteriorated. Or is this stumbling over words what is considered all the rage among youth nowadays?”

Hermione laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. “Sorry. And sorry for apologising, again. Seeing you has caught me a bit off guard, to be honest. I didn't even know that you were still in the country. Things were a bit crazy after the war, for all of us.” As if suddenly realising they were standing in the middle of a Muggle book store, she stepped closer slightly. “Maybe this isn't the place to have this conversation. Would you like to come back to mine for some tea?”

Snape's eyebrows practically met his hairline. He wasn't sure what he was expecting her to say, but it certainly wasn't that. He studied her face for any sign of trickery and malice but found only nervousness in her flickering eyes. He nodded curtly. “Lead the way.”

Hermione put the book she'd been holding back on the shelf, picked up her bag and motioned for him to follow. She stopped on a small side street, no more than an alleyway really, next to the book store and held out her arm. “Are you alright with side-along?”

Rolling his eyes, he grasped her arm. “I've been Apparating since before you were born, Miss Granger.”

She cleared her throat. “Right then. Off we go.”

They Disapparated with a crack and with no evidence that they'd ever been in the alley, save for the fluttering of some leaves on the ground. She didn't Apparate them straight into her flat but instead to the small park across from her building, since it was a Muggle neighbourhood. Once they landed, Snape let go of her arm and took a step away from her.

“This way.” She led him into the building and up the two flights of stairs to her flat. As they neared her door, she glanced at him over her shoulder. “You might want to stand back a bit until I've disabled the wards. They're set to trigger an alarm if a witch or wizard not authorised by me comes near.”

“A wise choice, I can feel the wards even from here.”

With him standing halfway down the hallway, Hermione set out to disable the wards. She'd learnt to do this wandlessly out of necessity, and it now took her barely 30 seconds to bring them down. She motioned for Snape that it was safe to approach, and they entered her flat. The wards reset themselves as she closed the door behind them.

Glancing over the living room, she blushed. Last night's empty takeout boxes were still on the coffee table along with a pile of books she'd been reading until too late in the night. With a wave of her wand, she vanished the trash to the kitchen and the books back to the overflowing bookcase behind the sofa.

“Please, sit.”

Hurrying into the kitchen to put on the tea, she heard him cross the floor and the sound of him sitting down on the sofa. While she waited for the water to boil she opened the cabinet next to the stove in search for some biscuits. It made her feel slightly on edge, having the feared Potions master in her flat. He looked better than he did at the trial, still thin and pale but no longer skeletal. He looked healthier, and ten years younger though by her calculations he had to be in his mid-forties by now.

Putting the pot, two teacups and some biscuits she'd found in the back of the cupboard on a tray she walked back to the living space. Hermione was not at all surprised that he took his tea plain, having declined her offer of sugar and milk, and added a splash of milk to hers. It was strange, sitting on her sofa drinking tea with Professor Snape, of all people! No one had heard anything from him after his trial, in which he was acquitted for the murder of Dumbledore and his role as a spy during the Second Wizarding War. He'd simply vanished from the public eye. Watching him, she noticed for the first time that he was dressed in Muggle clothes, though they were black. She could see the shimmer of a glamour above his collar, and it struck her that it had to be hiding the scars from Nagini's bite. A shiver went through her as she remembered his cry when the snake struck. Blood and the silvery substance of his memories mixing on the floor of the Shrieking Shack.

Something touched her shoulder lightly. “Miss Granger?”

Pulling back from her thoughts, her face flushed. “Sorry.”

“There are no doubt many questions you wish to ask me, so unless you plan to stretch this visit until the morning I suggest you get right into it.”

There were a million questions she wanted answers to. What had he been doing since the trial? Why had he vanished without a word? Did he blame them for leaving him to die in the Shrieking Shack? Was he still in love with Harry's mum? Why was he in a book store in Muggle London? Despite all these questions racing through her mind, another one came to the forefront of her mind.

“Will you drop the glamour?”

He froze, and she cursed her over-inquisitive mind. No doubt he would give her a scathing remark and storm out of her flat, never to be seen again. She fixated her gaze on the seam of her jeans, not wanting to see the look on his face.

Instead, he said the last thing she expected. “I will if you will.”

Her head snapped up, mouth hanging open in surprise.

“I...Okay.” Hermione had no idea what possessed her to do it. She never took off her glamour in the presence of others. Before she could talk herself out of it, she pulled her jumper over her head and tossed it behind her on the sofa, leaving her in her vest top and jeans. Her voice was slightly shaking as she spoke the incantation, and she felt the glamours fade away.

She didn't need to look at him to know where his gaze had gone. Belatedly she realised he'd already seen one of her scars, the slicing hex Dolohov had used in the Department of Mysteries in her fifth year. She remembered waking up in the hospital wing, practically delirious with the pain raging through her chest. His low voice speaking some sort of incantation as he worked to heal her injury. It was still a purple hue, but no longed raised and warm to the touch. The first scar she'd received in the fight against Voldemort, it was the one she had made the most peace with.

His touch on her left arm made her flinch, which effectively did what was the plan and bared her inner arm fully to his view. Chancing a glance to his face, she was taken aback by the murderous look on his face.

“Who did this?”

“Bellatrix, when we were held at Malfoy Manor. She's responsible for this as well.” She motioned to the smaller scar on her throat, where Bellatrix had held the cursed knife to stop them from escaping. “I'm not ashamed of them, not really. They're just scars. It's just easier to keep them under the glamour,” she shrugged, “especially around Muggles.”

“Of course.”

Hermione crossed her arms, hiding the scar from his view. “I showed you mine.”

For a moment she thought he'd refuse, rise from the sofa and leave the flat without a word. She was therefore a bit surprised when, with a wave of his hand, the glamours faded. The collar of his shirt still hid most of the scarring, and she raised her eyebrows in surprise when he undid the top button so he could fold down the collar and expose the scar to the air. It was not the clean, two puncture scar she'd expected. It was a rather mangled looking scar, still an angry red and looking like half his neck had been torn out.

Before she could stop herself, she'd reached her hand out. He flinched when her fingers came in contact with the warm, scarred skin of his throat, but didn't move away from her touch.

“Does it still hurt? Mine does, sometimes, which I've been told is because the knife was cursed.”

Snape cleared his throat, black eyes surveying the content of his teacup. “It does not, thankfully.”

She dropped her hand back into her lap. “Small mercies.” She felt naked with her scars exposed and resisted the urge to reach for her jumper.

Snape looked at her, mouth opening and then closing. Then he rose from the sofa, and his glamours shimmered back into place. “Thank you for the tea, Miss Granger, but I must be going.”

“Oh.” She stood as well. She shouldn't have asked about the glamours, now she'd practically frightened him away and there would be another five years until anybody saw or heard anything from him again.

“My leaving is no reflection on you or your question about the glamour.” He met her confused look with a smirk. “Your face is like an open book, Miss Granger.”

“Hermione. It makes me feel like I'm back in school when you call me Miss Granger.” Hermione hesitated. Though their meeting had been fairly brief and a bit uncomfortable, she was loath to see him disappear again like before. “May I see you again, sir?”

“Have you nothing better to do with your time than impose yourself on old teachers?”

She let out a short laugh. “I do, actually. But I also imagine that your social calendar isn't very full these days. Sir.”

Snape sighed. “Still an advocate for lost causes, I see.”

She raised her chin. “Not lost. Just wayward, who need a nudge in the right direction.”

“I am too old and have seen and done too many terrible things to be someone's project, Miss Granger.”

“Hermione. I don't think of you as a project, sir, at all. I simply want to be your friend.”

“Your taste in friends has always been abysmal.”

“If you don't want to see my face again, sir, you need only say so. I won't be offended.”

There was a pause. “I didn't say that.” He looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “I'll probably regret this.” Looking back at her, he produced a piece of paper which he handed to her. “Goodnight, Hermione.”

He was out the door before she had a chance to respond, and she stood blinking at the closed door for a few seconds before she turned over the note in her hand. A simple message was written in his familiar spiky handwriting, one that sent a warmth through her chest and something akin to hope rising through her.

_Severus Snape lives at Spinner's End number 9, Cokeworth._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A massive thank you to everybody who has read/reviewed this story. It means more to me than you know. There will be a third and final chapter, but I'm not sure when I'll be able to get that up. Hopefully it won't take too long.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Hermione bit her lower lip. The terraced house in front of her could be described as neglected, verging on decrepit. The bricks were dark and filthy, and the bushes were either dead or overgrown. She had Apparated to just outside the gate, which swung lightly in the breeze on only one hinge. So this was the home of the former Headmaster and Potions Master Severus Snape.

It had been nearly a week since they had tea in her flat, and she showed him her scars. The first two days afterwards, she'd scarcely believed it had actually happened. The other four she had tried to pick up the courage to go and visit him. She hadn't told anyone of her meeting Snape, not even Harry and Ron. While Ron's feelings about their former teacher hadn't changed much from their school days _(“I know he's a bloody hero or whatever, but he's still a git, Hermione.”)_, Harry had gone in the total opposite direction and developed a hero worship for the older man. The truth, Hermione thought, was most likely somewhere in the middle.

”Granger.”

Snape leant against the open doorway, arms folded as he watched her. “Oh. Hello.”

“It is customary to owl and before coming by someone's house.”

“I don't own an owl.”

“What would you have done if I was busy?”

She shrugged. “Left and come back another day.”

This answer seemed to please him because he motioned for her to enter.

Hermione looked around the sitting room, which had a slightly claustrophobic feel. The walls were covered in overflowing bookcases except where the fireplace was and a small window on the opposite wall, which didn't let in much light. There were two doors, which presumably led to the kitchen and the stairs to the upper floor. “This is cosy,” she said, shuffling a stack of newspapers from the sofa so she could sit down.

“You're still an abominable liar.” As the door closed, the wards shimmered back in place. “Tea?”

“Please.”

As Snape disappeared through to the kitchen, Hermione couldn't resist the calling of the books. His collection could almost put the Hogwarts library to shame, and she was surprised there were books on Muggle chemistry and physics next to the Potions texts. There was even a small part of one bookshelf that was dedicated to Muggle fiction novels.

“Find anything interesting?”

Hermione turned with a smile. “Your collection is amazing.”

Snape set the tea tray down on the coffee table. “I'm aware.”

She returned to the sofa. “I suspect you keep the restricted section somewhere else?”

“Under heavy wards in the basement.” Snape sat back on the sofa and crossed his ankles. “Did you come here just to talk about my book collection?”

She took a sip of her tea, English breakfast she noted, to give herself a few seconds to answer. “Well, no. Do I need a reason for visiting?”

“What does the dynamic duo think of your visit?”

It took her a second to figure out what he meant. “Oh, you mean Harry and Ron? I haven't told them.”

The only show of surprise was the slight tightening of his hand around his cup. “And why not?”

Hermione shifted her position, turning to face him more fully and resting her elbow on the back of the sofa and sighed. “I've been asking myself that same question since last week and I'm still not sure. Maybe,” she hesitated, “maybe I just wanted something that was just mine. Telling them would lead to questions and most likely arguments which I haven't the energy for right now.”

“What are you focusing that big brain of yours on these days? Working on becoming the youngest Minister of Magic?”

“Hardly. After sitting my NEWTs I went to Australia to find my parents. In the summer after you- after Dumbledore died, I figured it wasn't safe for them anymore. So I modified their memories and sent them away.”

“That was a good choice,” Snape said. “The Dark Lord had ordered their deaths, and he was most vexed when Yaxley and Dolohov came back with the news the house was abandoned.”

“I never knew.” She looked away. “In a way, it makes it easier. Knowing I did the right thing.” Looking back at Snape, she pushed down the lump in her throat. “I couldn't reverse the charm, I suppose I did too good a job. They are still happily living in Australia, unaware that they even have a daughter.”

“I'm sorry to hear that, Hermione.”

The use of her first name didn't surprise her as much as the brief hand on her shoulder did. She smiled sadly. “Thank you. I've had some time to get used to it, but it's still a bit painful to think about it.” She cleared her throat. “I then started working for the Ministry, at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”

Snape snorted. “Not with your blasted House-elf cause?”

Her face flushed. “That was the reaction of everyone at the Ministry as well. I've been working on the proposal for almost three years now, but no one is willing to sponsor it.” She failed to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “Is it too early to have a midlife crisis at twenty-four?”

“Given all you've been through, I'd say no.” Snape gave her a look she found hard to decipher. “Is that why you cut all your hair off?”

She reached up to touch the short curls. “Partly. Does it look bad?”

He fixed his gaze somewhere over her right shoulder. “It's not completely unbecoming.”

“Harry said it looked like I'd put my finger in a plug socket.”

Snape barked a laugh. Hermione was taken aback. She'd never even seen him smile before, let alone laugh. It made him look...pleasant almost. He'd never be handsome, but there was something striking about him. Especially now when he didn't look so high strung. There was an ease to him she didn't remember ever having seen before.

“Potter is hardly in a position to advise on anyone's hair.”

She giggled. “I suppose not.”

He leaned forward, the curtains of black hair hiding his eyes. “Which brings me back to the question at hand. If you're currently employed at the Ministry writing a fruitless House-elf proposal, what are you doing here in the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday?”

She cleared her throat and bit her lip. “Oh, that. I sort of quit.”

Black eyes met hers, and the eyebrow rose fast. At once, she felt like a third year. “You did what?”

Standing, she started pacing. Pacing was good. Pacing meant she could think. Maybe. “Only I didn't so much quit as just walked out. I was sitting at my desk looking up possible sponsors for my proposal, and I just thought 'What's the point?' I'm never going to get this bloody proposal seen by anyone because nobody cares. I'm just wasting my time and my energy on something completely fruitless. I just-” She stopped to face him and was unable to stop the tears from welling up in her eyes. “I can't do it. I used to think I could do anything I wanted with sheer determination and the right amount of research. So much for the brightest witch of her age.”

He rose. “I think this calls for something stronger than tea.” He went over to a small glass cabinet she'd failed to notice until now, where he pulled out a half-empty bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. Vanishing the now cold tea from their cups, he splashed a generous amount into her cup before handing it to her. “Drink, and then we'll talk.”

Hermione took a small sip, feeling the liquor burn on its way down. She'd never had much of a taste for firewhiskey, it usually only made her nauseous. From the corner of her eye, she saw Snape knock back his cup of firewhiskey in a single gulp and then refill it as he sat down. She never pictured him as the drinking type. “You've changed,” she blurted out before she could stop herself, and then felt her face flush.

Snape chuckled and put the bottle of Ogden's on the coffee table before taking another sip. “It's not completely surprising. People do change, you know.”

She rejoined him on the sofa. “I'm aware of that. It just made me realise I never knew you at all, none of us did.”

“Twenty points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger.” He smirked.

Hermione took another sip of firewhiskey, a larger one this time. “Bestow upon me your wisdom, Professor. Tell me all the things I've gotten wrong about life and how I am an insufferable know-it-all for thinking I could actually make a change.”

He looked at her through half-lidded eyes. “You're too young to hate the world. You're still an insufferable know-it-all, though.”

She snorted. “And you're still a git.” She didn't know what it was that made her speak so freely to him. She couldn't blame it on the firewhiskey; that would be the cowardly way to go about it, blame it on alcohol. Maybe it was the memory of him lifting his glamour on her sofa, showing a trust that she was sure she didn't deserve and she wasn't aware that he was capable of.

His chuckle did something to her insides she was unprepared to handle at the moment. “Touché, Miss Granger.”

“What happened to Hermione?”

“That's what I'd like to know as well. Since when do you give up in the face of adversity?”

Sighing, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She could smell him, herbal and something woodsy with a hint of the firewhiskey they were drinking. “I don't know. Maybe I'm just tired. I spent seven years fighting an insane megalomaniac, the last ten months of them freezing and starving in a bloody tent. I don't have it in me to fight anymore.” She twisted her head to look at him. His black eyes were practically staring into her soul. “Tell me what to do, because I haven't a clue.”

His hand twitched in his lap. “You know it doesn't work like that.”

“I wish it did. Life would be much easier.”

Snape shook his head. “I spent more than half my life doing what I was told, following orders that mostly required few choices of me. Freedom of choice is not something to take for granted.”

She touched his knee briefly. “I'm sorry, that was thoughtless of me.”

His eyes flickered to her hand, which had retreated to her lap, and then back to her face. “I thought I told you to stop apologising, Hermione.”

“You did do that.” She took another sip of firewhiskey. It went down easier than the ones before it, which was a sure sign she was getting tipsy. Right, time to slow down a bit then. “Have you got any words of wisdom for me? Or is this one of those things I need to figure out on my own?”

“You need to work this out by yourself. No one else has any answers for you.” He leaned forward, pinning her with his gaze. “You are perhaps the brightest witch I ever had the pleasure to teach, and I have full confidence in you.”

“If I don't figure it out, am I allowed back?”

There was a moment of hesitation, and then he clasped her shoulder. “Regardless of what you decide, you are welcome here.” His face was serious, but his eyes held a softness she found it difficult to look away from.

The shrill tone of a timer rang out, and the moment was gone.

Dropping his hand, Snape stood. “I need to see to that.”

Hermione stood, exhaling a shaky breath and trying to calm her racing heart. What had just happened? “Of course. I should get home.”

“Are you all right to Apparate or would you like to use the Floo?”

“I didn't drink _that_ much, so I'll be fine. Thank you for the company, and for lending your ear. It truly means a lot.”

“That is what friends are for, or so I'm told.”

She grinned. “They are. I'm honoured you'd consider me a friend.”

A hint of a smile rose on his face. “You best get home before I change my mind.”

Hermione laughed. “It's too late now, you're stuck with me.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Go home, Hermione.”

She felt lighter than in a long time as she left the house to Apparate home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Loathe it? Love it? Let me know.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the wait, I just moved so it's been kind of busy. This is the third and final chapter in this little story of mine. A huge thank you to all who has taken the time to read this story. You've given me more confidence to keep writing SSHG stories. 
> 
> Onwards with the show, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: I obviously own nothing.

The next time Hermione saw him, it was November.

She went to the Owl Office in Diagon Alley rather than to show up like the last time, asking if he was free to catch up soon. She was making tea later that night when a Patronus in the shape of a doe appeared in her living room, making her drop a glass and Crooks hiss from his place on the sofa. 

It opened its mouth and the familiar voice of the Potions master sounded. _“Dinner on Friday. 7 o'clock. Don't be late.”_

The Patronus dissolved in a silvery mist, and Hermione found herself smiling. It wasn't that she doubted Snape's word about her being welcome back, but it had been over a month. Then the content of his message sunk in. Dinner. He was making her dinner? She snorted, imagining Snape in a 'kiss the cook' apron stirring a big pot. She wouldn't be surprised if he knew how to cook though, cooking wasn't all that different from potion-making.

So it was that at 6.54 pm on Friday night, Hermione walked to the muggle park across her flat to Apparate to Spinner's End, clutching a bottle of wine. She had changed clothes three times and spent an hour trying to wrestle her hair into submission before she deemed herself presentable. She was even wearing makeup, which wasn't a common occurrence. Belatedly, she wondered if maybe she was overdressed in her navy dress but there was no time to change (again). Taking a deep breath, she held on tighter to the wine bottle and focused hard on Spinner's End.

It was decidedly colder in Cokeworth than in London, and she shivered. The gate was still hanging off only one hinge, and a thin layer of frost crunched underneath her feet as she stepped up on the porch. Before she had a chance to knock, the door swung open. The heat from inside the house practically hit her in the face, along with the smell of a roast and the unmistakable smell of man. Her stomach clenched.

Snape stood in the doorway, one hand on the open door. He looked striking, dressed fully in black as usual though his shirt had a long row of tiny buttons. “Hello.”

Hermione smiled (far too wide, she did not give her face permission to smile that wide). “Hello. Thank you for inviting me.” She thrust the wine towards him. It was red and a bit pricey, but the woman at the off licence had recommended it and Hermione didn't know enough about wine to pick one herself. “I hope this is all right, I didn't know what we were having for dinner.”

“We're having a roast, so this is suitable.” He stepped aside to allow her to enter. Closing the door, he became still as he faced her. “I didn't think to ask if you eat meat.”

Shrugging off her coat, Hermione nodded. “I do. A roast sounds lovely.”

“Good. Shall we?”

Wiping her hands on her skirt she followed him into the kitchen. Here the smell of the roast dinner was stronger, and Hermione's stomach rumbled. The small table in the middle of the room was set for two, and at his gesture, she sat. There was a comfortable silence as he uncorked the wine and took the roast and the potatoes from the oven.

After watching him for a few minutes, she spoke. “I didn't know you could cook.”

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, and she swore the corner of his mouth twitched. “As we established the last time you were here, there are many things you don't know about me.”

Cheeks flushing, she bit her lip and looked away. Merlin's tits. She was attracted to him. It had crept up on her during her last visit, and in the month since there had been plenty of nights when she woke up panting with the memory of his hands on her body.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

She looked up into his onyx eyes, which seemed to stare right through her. She trusted him not to use Legilimency on her without her consent, but he was still extremely perceptive. “It's nothing. Shall we eat?”

They ate in relative silence, the only sounds the clink of a wine glass and the scraping of silverware on a plate.

Finishing her meal, Hermione crossed her silverware and sat back in the chair. “That was delicious. Thank you for cooking, you shouldn't have.”

“I enjoy cooking,” Snape answered, swirling the wine in his glass as he watched her, “but I rarely get to make meals like these. The downside of living a solitary existence,” he explained at her curious look.

She took a sip of her wine. It was excellent. “I've got to come over more often, then. I can't cook to save my life so home-cooked meals are a rarity.”

“That would be acceptable,” his voice was low and silky, and it did wonderful things to her insides. With a flick of his wand, which he pulled out of his sleeve, the table cleared itself and the dirty dished settled in the sink. “Shall we retire to the sitting room?”

As she sank down on the sofa, the fire roared to life. Snape sat opposite from her, one leg curled underneath him and his body turned towards her. He looked relaxed, eyes unguarded and face open.

“I'm sorry it took me a month to reach out,” Hermione said. “It wasn't my intention, but time just slipped away.”

“Think nothing of it. I assume you gave some thought to what we discussed the last time you were here?”

She smiled. “I did. I did some soul searching when I got home and went back to work the next morning. I've worked my arse off the past weeks, and it's paid off. I've finally gotten support for my proposal, and there's a meeting next week with the Department Head about my cause.”

Snape smirked and raised his glass. “To the insufferable know-it-all. I knew you could do it.”

Raising her own glass in salute, she took a sip before answering. “That makes one of us. You did help me very much. I needed someone to remind me of my own resilience, and I'm glad it was you.”

“Oh?”

Her cheeks flushed, and she wanted to blame it on the wine and the heat of the room. “I always respected you as a teacher, even when you would call me a regurgitating swot,” she said. “Then after the war, when the truth about your allegiances came out my respect for you grew tenfold. You will always have my respect and gratitude.”

He touched her arm briefly. “They are much undeserved, but welcome nonetheless.”

“Says you,” she teased. “Since we only talked about me last time, I want to hear about your life. What are you doing when you're not giving advice to wayward know-it-all's?”

His gaze shifted to the contents of his glass. “There's not much to tell. I never expected to survive the war, and surviving and being exonerated never crossed my mind. I must admit I didn't quite know what to do with my newfound freedom.” His hair fell forward and hid part of his face from her view, and Hermione had to sit on her hand as not to reach out to push it back. “Then an offer came, unexpectedly, from Healer Derwent at St. Mungo's. She was interested in the potions I've invented over the years, many of them which are improvements on existing ones such as pepper up. I've been employed by them ever since.”

Grinning, she clasped his hand and squeezed it tight. “That's amazing, Severus! How did you manage to keep your anonymity? Healers gossip more than third years.”

Snape smirked. “Healer Derwent is the only one aware of my involvement, and I demanded a wand oath from her to keep it that way.”

Hermione chuckled. “I wouldn't expect anything else. I'm surprised you didn't request one of me.” 

“Would you have done it?”

Suddenly aware that their hands were still interlocked, she bit her lip. Was it only her imagination, or did his hand tighten slightly around hers? “Yes.”

A slight furrow of his brow was the only reaction he gave. “Why?”

Brown eyes meeting black, she was sure every emotion she was feeling was clear as day to him. “Because I respect you, and I care about you.”

Not breaking her gaze, Snape twisted their hands and ran his thumb up and down the length of her palm. Hermione's breath hitched. His touch was stirring up something inside her she'd not felt in a long time. Wanting. Longing. The feeling of needing to touch the other person or combust. She was hardly aware she was leaning towards him. His eyes flickered to her mouth and back up again.

“I'm too old for you.” His voice was low, but the words had no force behind them. It sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than her.

Her heart was pounding so loud she was sure he could hear it. “Kiss me anyway.”

His finger didn't stop its pathway across her palm. “I used to be your teacher.”

“So? Kiss me anyway.”

“You've been drinking.”

“So have you. Kiss me anyway.”

Snape stilled, and Hermione's stomach dropped. Was this his way of letting her down easily? Had she misread the signs? Face flushed, she made to pull back. His grip on her hand didn't falter, though.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

She licked her lips. “Yes.”

“This isn't a game you're playing?”

Emboldened by his words, Hermione took his hand and brought it to her face. His fingers, calloused from a lifetime of potions making, were warm against her cheek. “Never with you, Severus.”

With a groan, he surged forward, or maybe he was pulling her towards him, and finally, _finally_, their lips met. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she sighed. His nose rested against her cheek as his mouth slanted over hers and her fingers laced through his soft hair. Her body was on fire, and feeling his strong arm encircle her waist and pull her closer made her whimper. Then his tongue sought entrance to her mouth and she could focus on nothing else. He tasted of the wine they'd had for dinner and something inherently him. He was all around her, his smell and taste filled her until all else faded.

Hermione let out a sound of protest when he broke the kiss. He didn't go far though, resting his forehead against hers as they both sucked in much-needed air. She opened her eyes and found he'd done the same. Moving back, he studied her face. His thumb traced over her cheek and down across her bottom lip.

“Do you regret it?”

She smiled, shaking her head. “Never. I want you.”

He kissed her hard as an answer, pulling her body as flush with his as their position allowed. “Upstairs?” he murmured against her lips, and she chanted _yesyesyes_.

It seemed like only seconds until he was laying her down on his bed. A murmured spell and their clothes vanished. In the dim light, she could only see the paleness of his skin and his dark eyes as he laid by her side. Breathing heavily, she put her hand on his chest. His skin was warm, and she felt the ridges of hidden scars underneath her fingertips.

“Drop the glamour?” she whispered, searching his eyes for a reaction. 

He caressed the side of her face. “I will if you will.”

Magic sparked around them, and then they were truly naked. His lips traced the scar which bisected her torso, and then each scar in turn until she was a quivering mess beneath his lips and tongue. Pushing on his chest until he rolled to his back, she reciprocated in kind. The last scar she kissed was the jagged one on his throat, and a groan vibrated through his chest when she traced the contours of it with her tongue. She let him roll them until her back once again hit the bed, and reached for him.

He felt like she'd imagined. Pale skin and strong arms wrapped around her, soft hair tickling her face and neck. Her eyes stayed shut, and her lips stayed open, and her shallow breathing was loud in the stillness of the room. Her heels dug into the small of his back, and she couldn't stop a whimper when he shifted his weight and slid a hand up the underside of her thigh and pushed it outward. His fingers pushed against her skin as she turned to kiss him again. Her cry was swallowed by his mouth as her body tensed before falling apart. His fingers tightened against her flesh and his body stilled against hers. His breaths were warm against her neck.

Hermione was sure he could feel the pounding of her heart. Inhaling deeply, she opened her eyes. His head rising, their eyes locked. His skin was flushed, lips full and his eyes wild. He was beautiful. She brushed his hair back behind his ear.

“All right?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

Snape shifted their positions and guided her head to rest on his chest. Hermione nestled in closer, draping a leg over both of his. He cast a quiet cleansing charm and at her shiver another soft spell which brought the duvet up over them.

After a few minutes, Hermione spoke. “Severus?”

“Hmm?” He murmured, the hand caressing her arm never ceasing its movement.

“I'm glad we did that.”

She didn't hear his low reply and shifted to lean her chin on his chest and look at him. “What was that?”

He smiled slightly. “I said, as am I.”

“You do realise this means you're required to be nice to Harry and Ron?”

Snape snorted. “I'd rather not think of those dunderheads when you're naked and pressed against me in such a manner.”

Hermione laughed. “They're not dunderheads! They are important to me, as are you, so I need you all to get along.” Her face flushed when she realised what she'd just admitted. 

He touched her cheek gently. “I'm sure I could be persuaded to make an effort.”

Stretching, she kissed him briefly. “And in what manner shall I persuade you?” she said close to his lips. She let out a cry of surprise when he flipped them over.

Looming above her, he smirked. “I'm sure I can think of a way,” he purred as his mouth dove towards hers.

It was hours later before either of them rose, each with a new sense of purpose for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Loathe it? Love it? Let me know.

**Author's Note:**

> Like it? Love it? Loathe it? Let me know.


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